Albus lead the clearly agitated witch down a dirt path to the nearby riverbank, clasping his hands behind his back as they strolled. He listened silently, a grave frown on his face, as Minerva angrily recounted what she had seen at Number 4 Privet Drive, and the corroborating observations provided by the squib, Arabella Figg. No one but a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore could have withstood McGonagall's furious outrage with such tranquil aplomb. He studiously ignored the unspoken censure in her tirade, nodding seriously until his Deputy's ire began to level off a bit.

"Yes, yes," he agreed solemnly. "I have heard Mrs. Figg's complaints often enough, although the poor old woman is a tad overzealous at times. I assumed that loneliness and a desire to feel important lead her to exaggerate just a bit."

"I have seen with my own eyes how the Dursleys treat Harry. Trust me, Albus - Arabella does not exaggerate," Minerva insisted.

"Have you?" Albus glanced at her curiously. "Did you enter the house?"

"No," she admitted stiffly. "I was not certain how the wards worked and didn't wish to alert the Muggles to my presence. I tried at one point to perch on the kitchen windowsill, to observe what went on inside," she sniffed haughtily. "That Dursley woman saw me. You'd think I was a boggart the way the silly woman carried on! She actually had the nerve to attack me - with a broom!"

"Oh, dear me!" A smile played about Albus' lips.

"It wasn't funny!" Minerva growled. "The wretched woman chased me clear into the next yard with it! She's lucky I didn't hex her on the spot!" She drew herself up with a sullen sniff. "But I saw enough outside the home to confirm my suspicions, Albus. They are horrid to the boy! They treat him worse than a common house elf!"

"Well, I'm sure a few chores never hurt any child, Minerva."

"Chores! Slave labor, you mean! Painting, mowing, weeding - all in the noonday heat! The boy looks dreadful! He's terribly sunburned - he nearly passed out from heat exhaustion, I tell you! He practically had to beg his aunt for a sip of water! And he's much too thin - he looks like he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks. And the bruises! I don't know about his aunt and uncle, but it's clear that revolting cousin bullies him, and those despicable people encourage it. It was appalling, Albus! It was all I could do to keep myself from cursing the whole lot of them!"

Albus sighed sadly. "I know Minerva. I have been aware Harry's home has not always been a happy one."

"Happy?" Minerva's voice squeaked in skepticism.

"But all families have their difficult times, Minerva. Perhaps Harry's chores were a punishment for some sort of misbehavior," Albus suggested gently. "We both know how recalcitrant the boy can be at times. Perhaps they hoped the household tasks will keep him too busy to get into more trouble."

"I doubt that, Albus. According to Arabella, they have always overworked the child. And you should hear the way they speak to him! They call him ‘freak' - and worse! They denigrate him constantly. This morning before he left for work, I heard that swine Vernon Dursley call Harry a worthless burden! He actually said he should have been drowned at birth!" Minerva fairly quivered with indignation.

"Words of anger, no doubt. I'm sure he didn't mean it," Albus soothed mildly. "I expect there has been some sort of quarrel and what you saw was the bitter aftermath. Knowing Harry the way I do, I'm sure he will apologize for whatever infraction he has committed and the family will reconcile their differences. I don't think we can judge them too harshly for a simple family spat, Minerva."

"We are not speaking of family spats, Albus," Minerva insisted impatiently. "We are talking about neglect, at the very least, and possibly abuse!"

"Did you see any specific evidence of abuse?" Albus asked carefully.

Minerva scowled. "Not precisely. . .as I said, I did not enter the home. I wasn't sure what might happen if I challenged the wards. You have never explained them to me in any detail."

"They are blood wards - keyed to Lily's blood through her sister, and based upon her sacrifice for Harry's sake. No witch or wizard who wishes harm to Harry can pass through them."

"Then I might have entered?"

"You could have, certainly," Albus admitted reluctantly. "It was always my intention that Order members should be able to reach the boy in an emergency. But I am glad you did not. I promised the Dursleys they would not be disturbed by any magical folk, as long as they raised Harry."

"Promised them?" Minerva stared sharply at him. "You have spoken with them since we left Harry there?"

Albus grimaced inwardly, but kept his expression bland. "I have - once. The Dursleys were understandably alarmed the first time the child exhibited accidental magic. I spoke with Harry's aunt, who was concerned about her family being exposed to magic. I had to assure her that Harry's little ‘accidents' wouldn't harm them. To reassure both she and her husband, I promised that no one from the wizarding world would ever interfere with them, except in an extreme emergency. I told her the wards would protect them, as well as Harry, from danger."

"Danger from the outside, perhaps - but what about danger from within?" Minerva hissed. "What about danger to Harry from those Muggles? Will the wards protect him from that?"

"The Dursleys wouldn't harm the boy. He is their blood-kin, after all," Albus replied confidently.

Minerva stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads. It was clear she would still need considerable convincing, but Albus wasn't worried. He was confident in his justifications and knew he excelled at reassurance. And if the Deputy Headmistress still harbored concerns, there were other ways to alleviate them. . . ways he didn't like to utilize, but would if necessary. It wouldn't be the first time he was forced to employ extreme methods to preserve Harry's delicate situation. Albus turned up the twinkle in his shrewd eyes and patiently launched into a carefully calculated explanation of his strategy. He radiated confidence and compassion, filling the air between them with the powerful calming force of his undisputable wisdom.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Minerva stared at the old wizard, speechless with shock. It was clear that the Headmaster was unsurprised by the contemptible treatment Harry was receiving. She listened as Albus dismissed the Dursleys' dismal care of him, and even defended the decision to leave the boy in their care.

"I know they aren't the best sort of Muggles, Minerva. They dislike magic and no doubt distrust Harry's talent as a wizard. Can you blame them? Mrs. Dursley's own sister was killed by magic. But one cannot chose one's relations, you know. Regardless of their prejudices, they are Harry's only family, and his legal guardians. There is nothing we can do."

"But surely you don't intend to leave the boy there? In a home where he is barely tolerated, if not downright hated?"

"What would you have me do? I cannot legally remove the child from the home without clear, irrefutable evidence that they are unfit. Has Harry made any complaints? Has he made any accusations against them?"

"No, but there could be many reasons for his silence. You know abused children are often taciturn, for fear of retribution, or even misplaced shame!" Minerva insisted. "Harry may not have openly offered any accusations, but I don't think anyone has directly questioned him about his home life."

"And suppose someone did? What do you think would happen then?" Albus challenged calmly. "The Ministry would become involved, word would leak out - it always does. Harry's private life would be smeared all over the media. And what would the wizarding public say if they heard their savior, the-Boy-Who-Lived, was being mistreated - if, in fact, that were true?"

Minerva scowled at him. She couldn't care less what the ‘public' thought - she was only concerned about her student's welfare. But before she could offer her objections, Albus continued, his tone gentle and appeasing.

"Fudge would have a field day with this, Minerva. With no other living relative to claim him, Cornelius would immediately seek to make him a ward of the Ministry. Is that what you want for the boy? He might even influence the Department of Children's Services to assign Harry a new guardian - one we would have no control over. The boy could end up in the hands of one of Voldemort's supporters - even a Death Eater! Do you really want him raised by someone like Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?"

Minerva gasped, a hand fluttering anxiously to her throat.

"No - we must leave things as they stand, Minerva. It may not be ideal, but any attempt to change it could only put the child in more danger."

"But, Albus!" Minerva protested. "Those horrid Muggles?"

"Those horrid Muggles are Harry's legal family. More importantly, their home is the safest place for him. The blood wards are the only thing protecting him from Voldemort and his followers."

"But surely we could keep him safe at Hogwarts!"

"It's against the by-laws - and for good reason. What sort of precedent would it set? Do you really think Harry is the only Hogwarts student to come from a less-than-perfect home? We are a school, Minerva - not a shelter. Hogwarts is not designed to be a foster home for unfortunate children. And even if we made an exception for Harry, the Ministry would find out sooner or later, and we are back to square one. No, Minerva," Albus reasoned calmly. "Harry must stay with the Dursleys, at least during the summer. If he does not call Number 4 Privet Drive his home, for at least a few months every year, the blood wards will fail, and he will lose the only impregnable protection he has."

Minerva pursed her lips thinly in disapproval. Everything Albus said made perfect sense. His logic was impeccable; his arguments entirely rational. And every fiber of her being screamed at her that his conclusions were wrong - morally, ethically wrong.

She gathered her thoughts quickly, turning away for a moment to escape his shrewd scrutiny. She knew he was trying to maneuver her. She recognized the aura of confidence and reassurance he was practically bombarding her with - she had witnessed its effect on others for many years. She had sense enough to avoid his direct gaze. His powers of Legilimency were legend, and Minerva wasn't trained in Occlumency. But she did have other talents. . . talents that even Dumbledore was unaware of. Her animagus form was more than an alternate physical form for Minerva. . . it was in some ways a reflection of her inner character. Minerva McGonagall was instinctively feline, and possessed many of that species' traits. She was clever, adaptable, subtly independent, and when necessary - inscrutable. She carefully concealed her thoughts behind her feline psyche and contemplated her wisest course of action. It would not do to concede too quickly - Albus would be suspicious if she did, so she turned back to him and offered a compromise he might accept as genuine.

"I understand your concerns, Albus. But the fact remains, that at this moment, Harry Potter is ill. He is undernourished and probably dehydrated. When I left him this evening, he was so overworked and exhausted he looked ready to collapse. I do not trust that Dursley woman to look after him. He needs medical attention, Albus, and I cannot in good conscience simply ignore that."

Albus sighed and clasped his hands together, thoughtfully tapping his lips with a finger. "Very well, Minerva. If it would ease your concerns, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let Poppy have a look at him. Has she returned from her holiday?"

"Not yet. She's not due to return until next weekend."

"Good. I will stop by Surrey on my way back to Hogwarts next Saturday. If I deem it still necessary, I will bring Harry to Hogwarts myself and have her do a checkup on him. Will that satisfy you?"

It did not satisfy Minerva in the least, but she was careful not to reveal this. "I suppose - although I would rather he be looked after sooner," Minerva admitted.

"Don't worry about Harry," Albus smiled consolingly. "He's a lot stronger than you credit him, I think. He'll be fine until then."

"If you say so, Headmaster," Minerva conceded with faint reproach.

Albus turned and began to lead her back toward the house, obviously planning to conclude the interview. He glanced at her guardedly. "I think, considering your feelings toward the Dursleys, it would be wisest if you did not return to Privet Drive at this time, Minerva."

"I beg your pardon?" She schooled her expression into one of mild indignation.

"If one of his relatives were to say the wrong thing to Harry. . .," Albus chuckled. ". . . well, I wouldn't want you to ‘accidently' hex a Muggle - it might be a bit difficult to explain to the Ministry."

"I hope, Headmaster, you do not mean to suggest that I might lose my temper and act irresponsibly!" Minerva snapped.

"No, of course not," Albus soothed. "Still - I would feel better if you were not placed in such a volatile situation."

"Very well, Headmaster. I will refrain from further surveillance until you have assessed the situation yourself." She shrugged sullenly. "It's just as well - I don't think I could stand to watch those horrid people mistreat the boy any more than I have."

"Thank you, Minerva," he smiled beatifically, as if very pleased with her fortitude. His next question was casual, but sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. "Have you mentioned your observations to anyone else, Minerva? Anyone beside me and Mrs. Figg?"

Alarms went off inside her head and Minerva responded on pure instinct. She lied.

"Well, yes, Albus. Several of the other professors have expressed concerns about Harry. . .even Severus has asked me about his home life, if you can believe that!" she sniffed. "After I left Surrey, I stopped by Hogwarts and asked Filius and some of the others to organize a sentry detail on Harry's home - nothing intrusive, of course. I stressed complete discretion. . . just to keep an eye on things until you could be notified. Mrs. Figg kindly agreed to accommodate a rotating watch through her floo."

Albus halted, staring at her. His expression remained mild, but Minerva could sense his flare of anger and frustration, even though she avoided his eyes. "I really wish you hadn't done that, Minerva. It will be difficult enough to keep this situation quiet as it is, without involving others."

"I'm sorry, Albus. I was only thinking of Harry's safety." She did her best to appear properly distressed by his censure. "I only spoke with those we can trust implicitly. Still, at least we won't have to worry about the child all week. If anything serious did occur, someone will be on hand to handle it." She smiled hesitantly. "I'm sure, as you say, my concerns are probably exaggerated. I'll do as you ask, and leave Harry's safety in other's hands until you have had the opportunity to observe him yourself."

"I appreciate that."

Minerva did not miss the irony in his terse tone. "I feel much better just having spoken with you, Albus," she said. She was not above stroking the old wizard's ego if necessary. "I know you care for Harry, and will do what is best for him."

"I am grateful for your confidence," Albus smiled again. "Don't fret about this, Minerva. Harry will be just fine."

"I know he will," Minerva answered truthfully. She made a quick mental note to do as she had claimed, and enlist the immediate assistance of a few of the more trustworthy staff. They reached his brother's house, where the Quidditch game was still ongoing. Minerva bid Aberforth to stay where he was. "Please don't get up. I'll find my own way out."

"Won't you stay and have dinner with us, Minerva?"

"No, thank you Aberforth. I do appreciate the invitation, but I must return to Hogwarts. I really shouldn't have been absent so long as it is - Professor Sinistra will be wondering what's become of me." She turned to Albus. "Please - enjoy your family. I'm sorry to have interrupted your holiday."

"Thank you, Minerva." His good mood apparently restored, Albus conjured another lawn chair and sat down beside his brother, then turned to look up at her. "I meant to ask, Minerva. . . what prompted you to check on Harry?"

Minerva shrugged and blinked blandly at him. "I owled Harry at the beginning of the summer - at his request. He had asked me to inquire if he might visit the Weasleys in August - apparently they invited him. I told him I would ask you, and owled him to inquire the specific dates he had in mind, but he hasn't written back. I became concerned when he didn't reply."

"Oh - you know young boys," Albus waved dismissively. "They tend to lose track of time. Still, I'm glad you saw fit to follow through. Thank you, my dear."

"Of course," Minerva nodded primly. "I am Harry's Head of House. I look after my Lions. Good day, Headmaster; Aberforth. Thank you for your hospitality."

As Minerva strode back into the house, Aberforth glanced curiously at his brother. "Everything all right, I hope?"

"Fine," Albus shrugged. "Nothing serious. . .nothing I can't handle." He leaned back in his chair and returned his attention back to the game, chuckling at the antics of the children swooping about the wide lawn.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

As Minerva stepped gracefully through the fireplace into her office, she moved immediately to her desk. There were two crucial tasks she needed to complete before she allowed herself time to ponder the confusing and disturbing events of the day. As she drew a clean sheet of parchment toward her, she glanced down at the stack of mail that awaited her. She had only been gone for roughly twelve hours, and already the stack was overflowing. One envelope caught her attention, the neat looping handwriting quite familiar. She opened it and quickly scanned Severus' note. Then she picked up her quill and penned a careful response.

~~~

My dear Severus,

I am glad to hear the symposium is going well for you. I did investigate that little matter we discussed and I fear the situation is more critical than we imagined. I attempted to rectify the problem at once, but was met with a resistance I found most disturbing. It would appear we may not have the support we might expect in this situation.

I regret to ask you to cut your journey short, but I believe we may require your special talents to attempt a solution. In such a delicate matter, I think it prudent that we proceed with the utmost caution. It would be best if we settle this matter immediately, as the circumstances are likely to change within the week.

I have heard that floo travel from the Continent can be most unreliable these days. The enclosed may assist you in your journey. I believe you know the species well.

Sincerely,

Minerva

~~~

She dried the ink and folded the letter, inserting it into a plain envelope. Then she reached beneath the high collar of her gown, withdrawing a small pendant on a silver chain. Releasing the clasp, she slipped the pendant off the chain and ran a thumb over the raised design with a tender smile. With a wave of her wand and a softly murmured string of Latin, she tapped the pendant. A blue glow encased it - bright for several moments, then dimming until barely noticeable. She put the charm into the envelope and sealed it - first with a purple wax seal with a thistle embossed on it, then with several spells to insure it would reach no one but Severus Snape. She went to her sitting room and opened a window, leaning out of the casement. She gave a low, sharp whistle. After a moment, a huge brown speckled owl appeared over the high tower rooftop and banked sharply, diving into the window as Minerva stepped back.

"Hello, Archimedes!" Minerva murmured affectionately, offering a few owl treats and stroking the flecked feathers. Minerva was not particularly fond of owls in general - they tended to be edgy around her, as if sensing her feline alter ego - but the huge speckled owl was an exception. Archimedes had befriended the Transfiguration Professor when he was just an owlet and had grown attached to her. He was the only school owl she trusted with personal correspondence - a fact the large owl took great pride in.

"I've rather a long journey for you, my dear," Minerva murmured, affixing the letter securely to the owl's leg. "It's very urgent, I'm afraid, and I daren't trust Continental communications. It's crucial that Professor Snape receive this as soon as possible. Please be careful, Archimedes."

The owl blinked solemnly at her and nodded, as if comprehending her caution. He chirped softly, then lifted his broad wings and soared out of the window. Minerva watched him winging south until he was merely a speck in the waning light.

Then she turned to a small cabinet in the corner, and unlocked a lower door. She carefully withdrew a small marble Pensieve and set it on the coffee table in front of the settee. Settling herself comfortably, she brought back to mind all of the day's events, beginning with her arrival at #4 Privet Drive shortly after dawn. One by one, she delicately withdrew each memory with her wand, depositing the long glowing strands into the Pensieve. Her conversation with the Headmaster was the last memory she consigned to the basin before sitting back with a weary sigh. She didn't relax until the Pensieve was securely locked in the cabinet once again, under some rather impressive wards even Albus didn't know she knew. Then Minerva poured herself a healthy glass of scotch, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out in her favorite rocker to contemplate her next move.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Harry stared down at the hard roll, hunk of stale cheese, and browning half of an overripe apple that his aunt had shoved into his hands. He glanced up at her, not bothering to conceal his shock that the woman was voluntarily feeding him again. Twice in two days was unheard of and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"Take it to your room," she ordered quietly, as if concerned that her husband and son in the next room might overhear. "And get some sleep."

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," Harry muttered uncertainly.

"I want you up bright and early tomorrow," Petunia raised her voice to her normal shrill whine. "The Masons will be coming for dinner tomorrow night and I will be busy all day preparing a special meal. Vernon has to take Dudley out tomorrow afternoon to buy him a new dinner jacket. I want this house cleaned from top to bottom before they return. Spic and span, mind you - not your usual slipshod efforts. So don't dally about and stay up late tonight. I'll wake you promptly at five. Off with you."

Harry obediently slunk off to his room, hiding the food under his shirt until he'd gotten safely up the stairs. He didn't really think his Aunt had given him the food out of kindness. She clearly was planning to work him hard the next day, and she probably wanted to make certain he would have the strength to finish his chores.

Harry went into his room and closed the door, hoping that his uncle and cousin would ignore him for the rest of the night. He sat on the bed and nibbled at the apple, ignoring the brown spots. He wasn't really that hungry. The sandwich and milk the day before had been unusually filling. He decided to save the cheese and roll for tomorrow. . . he didn't expect to get any food then - Petunia would be too busy with her dinner preparations.

Harry knew all about the Masons. His uncle had nattered on and on about them all week. Mr. Mason was a business client and Uncle Vernon was hoping to land a huge order of drills from his company. He had invited Mr. Mason and his wife for dinner Saturday night in order to flatter and impress them. All week he had lectured and harangued Harry, warning him not to do anything to ruin the important occasion. "You will spend the evening in your room, not making a single sound. I don't want the Masons to even suspect you exist - do you understand me, boy?" Vernon had bellowed more than once.

His Aunt Petunia was beside herself with nervous excitement. Petunia hated to cook ordinarily, and left preparing everyday meals to Harry. But she loved to entertain. . . she liked making her few ‘special dishes' that she saved for dinner parties, and her fancy, over-decorated puddings. Harry thought she just liked showing off, but of course he kept such opinions to himself. The upcoming dinner party was one of the reasons that his aunt had been working him so hard all week. She wanted everything perfect inside and outside the neat little house- even details the Masons would never see, like the cobwebs in the basement, and the dusty shelves in the pantry. Harry had nearly laughed at her when she had screeched at him about a tiny streak in the new paint - on the back of the garden shed, no less. Like the Masons were going to root around behind the shed looking for flaws in the paint, for Merlin's sake!

Harry thought the whole business was rather lame - but he kept quiet and did whatever she told him to. He had cleaned the house, upstairs and down, twice already this week, but nothing was ever clean enough for Aunt Petunia. Harry wondered if there was something wrong with his aunt. He suspected that her compulsive attention to trivial details wasn't really healthy. She reminded him a little of Hermione - whose obsession about studying and grades was also a bit extreme - but he figured Aunt Petunia was much worse. His Aunt seemed to have an almost unnatural fear of dirt. Harry had sometimes daydreamed about covering himself with mud from head to toe - just to see her reaction. He wondered if she would faint from shock.

Thinking of Hermione made him suddenly lonely again, and Harry lay down on his bed and stared out the window with a forlorn sigh. He wished his friends had written at least once. His fears at the end of term weren't entirely unreasonable. As the summer wore on, being back here at Privet Drive was so depressing it made his memories of Hogwarts seem almost unreal - like a fantasy he had imagined. With his wand and school trunk safely locked away, Harry had little to remind him of a happier time, away at school with his friends and his magic. If it wasn't for the photo album Hagrid had given him, he might have believed it never happened.

Harry slid from the bed and crawled under it, lifting the loose floorboard he had discovered shortly after moving in to Dudley's second bedroom. That move had been a total surprise. His Uncle had sullenly explained that Harry was getting too big for the cupboard (which in truth, he was), and that they were letting Harry have Dudley's second room out of the goodness of their hearts.

Yeah, right! Harry had thought cynically. Harry suspected that their ‘goodness' had more to do with the hundreds of letters he had received from Hogwarts. Despite his uncle's manic attempts to destroy the letters, Harry had seen the address on the envelopes. Until the family had fled the house in their failed escape from the letters, each and every one had been addressed to Harry in The Cupboard Under the Stairs. That little detail had totally freaked out his Aunt Petunia. She had become convinced that those people were watching the house. He believed that his aunt had insisted on moving him to the tiny extra bedroom upstairs to conceal their previous neglect of Harry. He couldn't imagine any other reason his aunt and uncle would be so generous, particularly against Dudley's wishes.

His cousin Dudley had pitched an unholy fit for hours, not at all pleased to give up the cluttered room - but not because he really needed it. Dudley rarely even went in there - it was only used to store the huge hoard of broken toys he no longer played with but refused to have trashed. Dudley just didn't want Harry to have something he considered his. It had taken considerable pleading and numerous shopping trips to appease his wrath.

Harry was thrilled with the room. It wasn't comfy and welcoming like his dorm at Hogwarts. It was rather bare, containing only some old worn furniture that Dudley had outgrown. Even Dudley's broken toys were removed - boxed and moved to the attic at Dudley's insistence, just so Harry couldn't play with them. But it was bigger than the cupboard; it had a window; it didn't have nearly as many spiders, and it didn't smell of bleach and cleaner. Harry felt almost like a real person, with his own room. Best of all, it had a secret hiding place - the loose floorboard under his bed, where he could hide things he didn't want his relatives to find. All he had in it at the moment was his photo album. His uncle had locked all of his school things away in the cupboard the moment they arrived home, but by a stroke of luck, Harry had had the album tucked into his belt under his shirt when Vernon took his things. While searching for a place to conceal it, Harry had discovered the little space under the floorboards.

He lifted the board now and pulled out his album, then carefully wrapped the cheese and roll in a clean t-shirt and stuffed it into the hole. If his little stash of food were discovered, his aunt would probably claim he had stolen it. Harry didn't want to contemplate the outcome of that disaster.

He climbed back on his bed and opened the photo album, methodically studying each moving photo as if he hadn't already stared at them a hundred times in the last three weeks. The photos were his lifeline. . .his proof to himself that he wasn't delusional. He was a wizard - his parents had loved him - he did go to Hogwarts and he did have friends. . .even if it was growing hard to remember as the days dragged on. Even if those friends had gotten busy and forgotten him. Harry sighed and closed the album. He returned it to his hidden space and stretched out on the bed, watching the sun slip below the roofs of the row of identical houses across the street. Sleep came quickly. He was exhausted and sore and he didn't fight the drowsiness. It didn't occur to him to feel vexed about going to bed so early - hours before most boys who were almost twelve-years-old. His aunt had been right. Tomorrow would be a long, tiring day, and Harry would need all the strength he could muster.